


Be Thou My Vision

by Percyjacksonfan3



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Book compliant, I HAD to write this after watching the show, I know fics of this missing scene will be done to death, M/M, They love each other, but here's my take on it, might write a sequel if people want it, these two are so amazing, tv show compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 09:58:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19082725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percyjacksonfan3/pseuds/Percyjacksonfan3
Summary: In episode Six there's a missing scene where Crowley and Aziraphale figure out the final prophecy and make a plan. This is my take on that missing night."Any other angel would have called the emotion love. Aziraphale was trying not to, not only because he was intimately familiar with the defensive changeability of Crowley’s temperament but because he was scared of the fragility of his own heart."





	Be Thou My Vision

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Будь виденьем моим](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19242298) by [Unforgiven2205](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforgiven2205/pseuds/Unforgiven2205)



> I know, I know, this is probably a fic done to death but I don't care! I had too many feels. I know nothing is explicit here, and while I do 100% believe Crowley and Aziraphale love each other I am not sure where their sexualities fall. So they love one another and it's romantically inclined, as in the show and book, but nothing else. At least not in this fic. 
> 
> As it is, there's a bit of angst, lot's of feels and a happy ending. So please enjoy.

“You can stay at mine. If you’d like.”

The offer is soft and apologetic and pleading. Crowley wore the same expression that he’d had every time when asking Aziraphale to run away from the Apocalypse with him. There was a feeling coming off of him in desperate waves, something so strong that it made Aziraphale have to pause a moment and collect himself.

Any other angel would have called the emotion love. Aziraphale was trying not to, not only because he was intimately familiar with the defensive changeability of Crowley’s temperament but because he was scared of the fragility of his own heart.

It wouldn’t do to get his hopes up. Not even now that certain events were done. Things were by no means finished yet and until it was, until Crowley was guaranteed safety no matter what, Aziraphale couldn’t allow himself to finally take that final step between them. Even if he was finally in a place where he’d accepted his feelings.

_“You go too fast for me Crowley.”_

They’d both known he hadn’t been talking about the demon’s driving.

The two of them sit in relative silence on the bus for most of the way to the capital. Crowley stares out of the window, watching lights of houses go by or counting cars or whatever it is he does to occupy himself in times of silence like this. Aziraphale watches him a bit, his offer of Aziraphale staying the night still ringing in the angel’s ears.

Eventually he looks forward, humming a random bit of music quietly. A few minutes pass before Crowley makes a groan of disgust and sinks into a slouch, crossing his arms.

“Really? Be Thou My Vision? You don’t think the Almighty is getting enough praise today already?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That hymn you’re singing,” he’s watching Aziraphale from under his glasses, eyes keen. “Can we at least go one night without the Pure and Holier-Than-Thou attitude? Just this once?”

“I am an angel, Crowley, I can’t help it.” Aziraphale tries to sound annoyed but his tone is nothing but fond. “Besides I didn’t even realize I _was_ humming it. If it really bothers you I’ll stop.”

“Thank you.” They fall into silence for a while longer. None of the bus passengers or the driver seem to realize they’re going an hour and a half out of the regular route to make a stop in London.

They’re dropped off outside of Crowley’s Mayfair flat and Aziraphale looks up at the tall building. He wonders which floor Crowley stays on and then immediately knows the answer to the question. The guess is confirmed when they get up the stairs (“Elevator is always out of order, I’m afraid that was my doing,” Crowley had explained, slightly apologetic) to the top floor. With a wave of Crowley’s hand they’re in, passing that old statue of the two of them wrestling to walk into the dimly lit place.

“Goodness you can hardly see a thing,” Aziraphale muttered while blinking, trying to get his eyes to adjust. He feels the brush of plant leaves against his sleeve.

“Oh, right. Forgot about that. Doesn’t really bother me.”

“Well not all of us have your unique features, my dear.” Aziraphale responds, not unkindly, before murmuring “let there be light.”

A soft glow emanates from the ceiling making the dark stone walls, lack of ornamentation and modern furniture more visible than ever.

Aziraphale looks around, taking in the single white leather sofa and small kitchenette. He stays put as Crowley moves forward through the opening section of spinning wall, unable to resist peeking through to see the mounted television and what looks like a throne in front of a desk.

It’s all a bit reminiscent of a dungeon. Not exactly home-like, though Aziraphale is in no place to judge. His bookshop is more cluttered than a hoarder in the early stages.

The flat is warm though, which Crowley would like. The stone traps heat and Aziraphale is sure that is the only reason he’s feeling the beginnings of flushed.

He wonders where the bedroom is and refuses to allow his body to blush.

“Coming angel?” Crowley peeks at him finally and he feels a bit foolish for having stood here silently all this time. He slowly follows his friend into the television room and then through a final doorway leading to a large room with an absolutely massive four-poster bed.

“Emperor size.” Crowley says proudly, glancing over at him. Aziraphale takes in the dark sheets- of the highest quality he’s sure- and double doors for what must be a walk-in closet.

“Lovely.” He says eventually, realizing it’s fallen on him to keep up the conversation. “Very- very hip, I suppose?”

“I suppose.” Crowley turns away but not before Aziraphale catches the beginning of a smile. “You don’t have to pretend to like it. It’s not to your taste, I know.”

Aziraphale won’t lie to deny it. “And it’s to yours?”

The demon shrugs, surveying the room as if he’d forgotten what it looked like. “It works. Functional. That’s all I really need for the amount of time I spend here.”

“Of course.” It’s not his place to judge, is it? Especially when Crowley’s been nice enough to offer him a place to stay.

“Right then. Nothing’s off limits to you, feel free to wander. I know you don’t sleep, but to be honest after the day we’ve had I’m exhausted. Er.” He stops and Aziraphale tilts his head, waiting. “You didn’t want to sleep, did you?”

Aziraphale takes stock of himself. There’s no denying he’s tired, but it’s a weariness he’s suffered from before. Back during the Plagues of Egypt, and Sodom and Gomorrah, or the burning of Alexandria’s Library. More lately it had settled on him around World War II and then again when he’d heard of Crowley’s planned church robbery.

But he’d always managed to deal with that, hadn’t he? Typically he would read a book and allow his thoughts to settle before thinking over the matter that was worrying him. Handling things by himself had been his custom for his entire existence except for a few- well. Apart from lately, it would seem. Maybe a bit earlier than that.

Surely tonight he would be fine, especially knowing Crowley would be asleep a couple of rooms over. He could speak to the plants perhaps, Crowley had always said that cheered him up. Or watch some TV. That pastime was a rarity for Aziraphale. Even the two art pieces provided some distraction, given what they were. Aziraphale would never turn down a chance to further examine an authentic Leonardo da Vinci, and that statue of the two beings wrestling- well one of them was supposed to be him, wasn’t it? It wouldn’t hurt to take a wee look, nothing that would verge on vanity. Or pride. Or- well any of the sins.

“Aziraphale?”

He realized he’d been standing clasping his hands in front of him and blinked, focusing once more on Crowley. “Hmm? Oh, yes. I mean no. No. I don’t believe I need to sleep.” He perks up a bit at a thought. “I know you don’t indulge in reading, but do you have anything of the literary sort here?”

“Ah, no.” Crowley looks a bit sheepish. “I could always miracle something up for you.”

“Oh no, please. I’d feel guilty about that. It’s no matter, no harm done. I’m sure I will waste the night away somehow.”

“Right.” Crowley shifts his weight.

He’ll be wanting to go to sleep now, Aziraphale realized and immediately took a step back, feeling sillier than before. Obviously. Just because Aziraphale was wide awake at the moment and- and felt like talking or craved some reassurance or was trying not to worry about what the now existing future held, all that did not mean Crowley was obligated or inclined to do the same.

“I will leave you to it.” He says, taking another step towards the- what would that be, the living room? What sort of living room had a throne in it? He turned around.

“Angel.”

“Yes?” It would have been embarrassing the speed he’d turned back around at if it had been anybody except the two of them.

For some reason Crowley looks slightly pained. He’s finally taken off his sunglasses. “I…”

Seconds tick away and Aziraphale doesn’t look away from him. He feels the weight of Crowley’s stare on him in return. “Crowley?”

“I get all of the cable channels on the television. If you get bored. And the streaming sites.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale doesn’t notice Crowley slump a bit, too busy cataloguing the own feeling of something in his chest falling. “Lovely, thank you. I might just have to try them.”

He has no idea what a streaming site is, which Crowley well knows. But then again, Aziraphale supposes, now that there’s definitely going to be a future for Earth it wouldn’t hurt for him to get up to date on these things.

“Good night then.” Aziraphale tries to smile and wonders why his stomach feels like it’s being squeezed from the inside. “I’ll- Well. If you’re up I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’ll be up.” Crowley promises, still watching him. “Good night.”

Aziraphale steps out of the bedroom and the stone door swings back to closed almost as soon as he does. Standing there and staring at the grey rock Aziraphale tries to tell himself the feeling slowly creeping through him is not hurt. Or loneliness.

But he’s an angel. Compared to Crowley he’s never been a good liar.

oooOOOooo

When the soft footsteps sound behind him he’s staring at the statue.

The Mona Lisa had been fascinating, of course. But Leonardo’s written dedication to Crowley had only tugged at that uncomfortable feeling inside of Aziraphale so he’d moved on to the plants. They really were the most lush and beautiful that he’d seen and he told them so, making a few prick up and the others shrink away, as if in fear of being immediately yelled at.

Honestly, what did Crowley do to the poor things?

But foliage only held his interest for so long and therefore he’d winded up at the statue. An angel and a demon, one on top of the other, both with their wings out. The demon was holding the angel down, keeping its arm pinned between the two of them.

It really could have been anybody, Aziraphale thought after a few minutes of looking at it. Just because the demon on top had hair and wings similar to Crowley and the angel had a colouring similar to himself didn’t mean anything. Nor the fact that he knew Crowley had asked for it custom made.

Still, looking at it he couldn’t help but remember a great many things.

Misunderstandings thousands of years ago with Crowley that had ended up with the two of them wrestling similarly. It had never come to discorporating one another, thankfully, they’d always sorted it out before it got that far but the need to gain control over the other, to hold them down in a non-threatening position… well. They hadn’t always gotten along easily. Suspicion wasn’t something Aziraphale felt naturally but with Crowley he had been. Having a demon pop up suddenly all the time and _enjoying_ his presence… he would have been a fool not to suspect some kind of trick. At least until they’d gotten on better terms. More honest terms.

And demons, as Crowley reminded him often, were known for their paranoia. He hadn’t exactly welcomed a friendship with Aziraphale with guileless and open arms either.

A few scuffles in the first hundred years of acquaintance was remarkably tame, Aziraphale thought. Especially when other visiting angels and demons went around discorporating one another regularly.

He refocused on the statue. It could be based on them. Crowley had all but admitted that it was when he’d first acquired it and shown Aziraphale, the words a soft hiss after they’d indulged in several bottles of wine.

Aziraphale couldn’t look at the statue and not see the obvious. If the two beings depicted hadn’t been wrestling then the only other thing they could be doing- well it quite looked like, what with the physical proximity and convenient angles hiding certain parts of their bodies… they could have been in the middle of a-

“Angel?”

-fuck.

He jumped slightly, turning to stand face to face with Crowley. He registered the demon’s footsteps only now, seconds after they’d faded into silence, and his eyes met wide reptilian ones.

Immediately he relaxed, a part of him softening. “Crowley? I haven’t woken you, have I?”

“No.” He shook his head. His hair wasn’t styled at the moment and it looked remarkably soft. Aziraphale absurdly wanted to touch it. “I haven’t slept.”

The angel frowns. “But,” his eyes glance to a wall clock. “It’s been hours.”

Crowley nods but doesn’t explain, eyes moving to fall on the statue. “I did show it to you when I bought it.”

“Yes, I remember.” Aziraphale tries not to be thrown by the shift back in conversation.

“You didn’t seem nearly so interested in it at the time.”

Aziraphale swallows. “A lot has changed since then, my dear.”

Crowley’s eyes glance back up to him, making their eyes hold. The angel opens his mouth, intent on saying something, anything to break the suddenly heavy silence. A promise that he would be quieter, or a chastisement to send Crowley back to bed, maybe.

“Come on.” The demon says before he can, voice soft. He sounds as if he’s surrendering to something which makes Aziraphale blink. Hesitantly, long enough that Aziraphale notices, Crowley flexes his fingers before reaching out and grabbing his hand and turning away to pull them back into the bedroom.

It’s a good thing the angel didn’t need to breathe. If he did he thought it might have been difficult at that moment.

“Crowley-”

“You want to talk, don’t you? I could practically sense you worrying through the walls. Well let’s figure everything out. Make a game plan.” Crowley brings Aziraphale to sit on the edge of the mattress before pacing in front of him. His plaid pajama bottoms are so long they skim the floor lightly with every step. His t-shirt is black and has the logo of a band Aziraphale doesn’t recognize on it.

“Stop, Crowley.” He reaches out but freezes when Crowley moves away. His hand falls lamely back to his side and he tries not to feel wounded. “I think you need to sleep.”

“I need to quit worrying.” Crowley replies, which makes the angel frown. “And I’ll only do that when we sort things out.”

“Sort what out?”

“Things.” The demon waves a hand. “The future.”

Aziraphale’s stomach swoops. “The future?”

“Yes! Let’s figure out what we’re going to do when our respective offices come to collect us. You know they will. Neither side will be happy with what happened today.”

“Oh. Yes. Yes you’re right, we should probably discuss… but are you sure you won’t get a few hours rest first?”

“I don’t need rest, I need a plan!”

“Alright.” Aziraphale tries to sound soothing. “Alright. Then we’ll come up with a plan.”

Crowley paces a bit more before moving to the other side of the bed and flinging himself down on it with a loud sigh. His arm moves to cover his eyes. “What sort of time frame are we looking at? How quick will the others Up There be to act?”

“Oh, quite promptly I imagine.” Aziraphale turns to face him, bending one leg to rest on top of the mattress and letting the other foot hang to rest on the floor. “I wouldn’t be surprise if they summoned me as early as tomorrow.”

Crowley breathes deeply before his arm slips away from hiding his eyes. He turns his head and opens them, staring back at Aziraphale. “Hell will be the same. Never one to put off a good session of torture, those guys. If I’m lucky I’ll be sentenced to eternity in one of the pits.”

Aziraphale almost flinches at that. At the mere thought of it, Crowley being taken back down there. He doesn’t though, because the look on the demon’s face is already so fragile.

“I’d rather hoped we could have just… gotten away with it. Have them each turn a blind eye to save face, so to speak.”

Crowley sighs. “It’s never that easy.”

“No,” Aziraphale says sadly, thinking back to the unacknowledged component of their relationship. The love he always felt around Crowley, powerful and untainted and millennia in the making. But dangerous to them both nonetheless. “I don’t suppose it is.”

It’s wrecked, the look on Crowley’s face. Aziraphale can only imagine what he must be thinking of. The same as him? Past tortures the demon has seen and heard of that might be inflicted upon him? The things he would miss on earth?

The two of them having to say goodbye?

No. He won’t think of it. Not as if it was an inevitability.

“The way I see it, they’ll each want it all over and done with as quickly as possible. So if they don’t come tomorrow, they probably won’t come for us at all.”

“Yes, that seems likely.”

“It will be the end of the road for me, angel.” Crowley is looking up at the ceiling instead of meeting his eyes. “It won’t be a mere 100-year sentence, or even life. Not even the pits. They’ll get rid of me. For good.”

It’s what he’d implied only moments ago but to hear it out loud makes Aziraphale scramble to deny it. “But- but you’re the Serpent. The originator of sin. They wouldn’t just-”

“After what I did to Ligur?” Crowley’s eyes slide over before looking away just as quickly. “You know they would. Self-defense isn’t really a valid cover in this case.”

“But- they would need a Holy Object. A proper Relic. Or Holy Water. How could they get any of that without hurting themselves?”

“The lords wouldn’t care about killing a few imps to get any of that.” Crowley sighs. “That’s all worst-case scenario, of course. But it also seems most likely.”

Aziraphale swallows. “Then I suppose it’s the flames of Hell for me then.”

Crowley sat up in surprise. “What?”

“Well I hardly think Gabriel will be forgiving. Or Michael. Uriel practically promised me death already for- for going against them. There are not many options for me, you see. Either I Fall- an impossibility, given that Hell wouldn’t want me after what we’ve done - or burn my Holiness away.” He swallows. “Burn _me_ away.”

Suddenly the exhaustion is too much to bear and he slowly lies down, very close to the edge of the bed. Crowley does the same on the opposite side. There’s a wide cavern of space between the two of them as they lie down on the mattress parallel to one another. Again Aziraphale feels a powerful yearning, this time to close it.

“So everybody lives happily ever after but us.” Aziraphale turns his head to see Crowley’s eyes close. “Typical.”

“Well we have had rather a longer life than most, dear.”

“Yes but-” Yellow eyes fly open. “There’s so much more to get done and experience.” A hitch in the demon’s breath. “Things that I want. That I’ve been meaning to do and just… never worked up the nerve.”

And oh, but Aziraphale knows this is dangerous territory. They’ve come close to this before, several times (after the bombing of the Nazi’s at the church, oh _God_ ), too many times, and he’s good at resisting temptation, excellent in fact, given how much time he spends with Crowley, but there’s only so much even _he_ can take.

“I think we’ve lived a wonderful life.” He says primly, trying to take control of the conversation. “Very few regrets. Lots to be proud of. What more could you ask for?”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

Crowley tenses, even in the huge space between them the angel feels it. The demon turns his head and then his body too so that he faces Aziraphale.

“Really?” He asks scathingly, eyes searching. They’re too knowing, too wide and open and honest. It’s the sort of conversation they usually have after more than several bottles of wine each but this time they’re completely sober and emotionally wrung out.

Crowley knows exactly what neither of them are saying and he’s nudging Aziraphale in the direction to finally admit it all.

Aziraphale had thought the two of them were going to die, earlier today. Properly die. He couldn’t blame Crowley for pushing. Not now, not after everything that had happened. They would have gone down fighting Satan together, yes, but it would have all been without saying- well.

“If they came and took you right now,” Crowley asks and Aziraphale tensed, looking back up at the bed canopy, “there’s nothing you wish you could have done? Nothing you want to read, or eat, or listen to? Nothing you want to do or words you want to say?”

“Crowley. Don’t. Please.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know what.” Aziraphale turns over to look at him, making his eyes widen. He’s angry suddenly, furious, and whether it’s because Crowley is pushing when he knows damn well why he shouldn’t, or because Crowley is right, it doesn’t matter. “What’s the point in doing this, in finally admitting it all, when the words will bring about our destruction all the sooner? You think the angels Upstairs will let me get the sentiment out before coming and getting me? You think Hell would allow you to hear such a thing and keep the memory? No. I won’t risk it. If tonight really is all we have left then I won’t- I won’t squander it, all right? Please don’t tempt me to.”

Crowley’s eyes were wide until all at once the fight seemed to leave him as he understood what Aziraphale was saying. “All right, angel. Okay. I won’t.”

The breath Aziraphale lets out seems to have been holding up his whole body because he feels like he sinks into the mattress as it goes. It’s not much but it’s all he can manage as he says quietly. “Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t do that.” Crowley snaps defensively. “None of those looks, or that tone, if we’re playing by your rules you can’t entice me either, got it?

Fair was fair. Aziraphale wasn’t the only one in danger of giving in to temptation. “You’re right.”

For a while all they do is lie there and watch one another. Aziraphale feels closer to sleep than he can ever remember but Crowley looks wide awake as he stares at him, pupils flitting across his face as if he was trying to memorize it.

With a pang Aziraphale realized he might be.

A demon would be completely destroyed by Holy Objects. They didn’t just hurt the physical body, they hurt the soul, hence the whole Trial By Ordeal business of the Middle Ages. Only in this case demons didn’t get a chance to heal and prove themselves like humans. Either they survived or not, were holy or not; and unlike angels they were decidedly not.

And then he thought of it.

“Hold on just a moment.” He sat up, rummaging in his jacket pocket and producing the burnt slip of paper. Agnes Nutter’s last Nice and Accurate Prophecy. Eyes moving quickly he reread the words and suddenly Aziraphale thought they might have a chance.

“What? If you say a bed bug bit you I’m telling you right now that’s a load of rubbish, I’ve never had those in my entire 6000 years-”

“Crowley.” He felt the smile slowly split his face as he pushed the piece of paper towards the demon. Yellow slitted eyes stared down at it unimpressed. “I’ve got it.”

“Would you care to explain to me, then?”

So Aziraphale did.

“We switch places.” He finishes. “The Holy Water wouldn’t hurt me! And Hellfire wouldn’t damage you a bit! It’s perfect.”

Crowley was staring at him. “They’d know.”

“No.” Aziraphale insists. “They’re already unsure about the whole thing. Imagine, if you were in their shoes, what would you think of me surviving the flames of Hell and you taking a nice bath in Holy Water? What is the only conclusion you could come to after all of the confusion this past week?”

“They would… they’d think we’d become human. Or at least close enough.” Crowley met Aziraphale’s eyes. “That just might work.”

“And they’d be so out of their depth I bet you they would have no choice but to let us go. As long as we kept our heads and behaved rationally about it all. If we beat their punishments then they’ll have no choice but to believe it’s the will of God, yes? Part of the Ineffable Plan?”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley’s eyes searched his. They were shining a bit and Aziraphale’s stomach tightened while his whole body begun to feel slightly warm. Hope was a good look on Crowley. “I think you’re right.”

“It’s the best chance we’ve got.” Aziraphale said, mind still racing. “I’m sure I could pretend to be you for a little while with decent success. They can’t know you better than I do, can they? Not after all this time. And the same goes for me and the angels Up There. They barely know me at all really, not like you do.”

Crowley stared at him.

“We could do it, don’t you think?” He’s too excited to see the way Crowley looks at him. “As long as you were polite they’d never suspect a thing and as for me- well, it will give me a chance to be stylish for once in my life. What do you say?”

“Yes.” Crowley says making Aziraphale finally look over and take him in at the tremor in his voice. “Yes. Let’s do it.”

“And just think.” Aziraphale says, trying to comfort him. “If we did manage to scare them off that would mean no more surveillance. They would leave us alone.”

“At least for a little while.”

“We could do whatever we wanted and they wouldn’t have the authority to do anything about it. About any of it. You would be safe no matter what.” His heart thumped and Aziraphale wondered why since it didn’t usually beat at all. He shifted, still sitting up. “Crowley, do you understand? We could be free of it all and just… live. However we wanted to.”

“Let’s move in together.”

Aziraphale froze, staring at Crowley. “What?”

“If we make it through this,” Crowley moved forwards, kneeling in front of him on the bed. Aziraphale crossed his legs to sit more comfortably in front of him, unwilling to acknowledge how his heart had sped up. “If they actually do agree to leave us alone then lets… retire. Go off together somewhere.”

“Not Alpha Centauri?”

“We didn’t go to all this trouble of saving the earth only to leave it.” Crowley said, still serious. He looked incredibly frightened. “Would it be so bad? The two of us together for however long we all have left? Would it be so miserable?”

Aziraphale dropped the teasing, finally allowing himself one gesture. He brought his hand up to cup Crowley’s cheek, ignoring the lump in his throat when the demon leaned in to it slightly. “You know it wouldn’t. It’s what we fought for after all. But I won’t risk you by saying anything more tonight.”

“So if we survive…”

“If we’re right and make it through what we think Above and Below have in store for us we’ll be free to do whatever we want. Together.” Aziraphale repeated, thumb stroking Crowley’s cheek gently before pulling it away. He saw Crowley’s hand twitch and curl into a fist on his leg and did the same with his own. He’d grown familiar with his limits when it came to temptation. “Anything would be possible for the two of us.”

“Then we have to try.”

“We will.” Aziraphale promises, eyes shining. “More than that, my dear boy, we’ll succeed.”

Their planning fell into murmurs as they lay back down side by side. Closer this time, much closer, only a foot or so of space between their faces on the pillows as they whispered instructions and reminders to one another.

“No clothes from before the current decade.” Crowley murmurs, eyes slipping closed as he finally began to drift off to sleep. “They’d know I wouldn’t be caught anywhere wearing anything so out of date.”

“My dear, I’ll do nothing to risk messing this all up, you must know that. No need to worry. I did mean it when I said I knew you.”

A faint smile curved the demon’s lips. “That’s alright then.”

And then he was asleep, leaving Aziraphale helpless to do anything but watch.

oooOOOooo

A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.

As it sang an angel and a demon walked through St. James Park. One fed the ducks and the other half-heartedly tried to hit them with small pieces of fruit. They talked quietly about the real estate market and lovely locations around the globe.

“I’ve heard wonderful things about the cottages at South Downs,” the angel suggests finally after a tired age-old debate about Canada. “We could always start there?”

Even Crowley couldn’t seem to find anything wrong with that suggestion. Not yet anyway.

“Alright then,” he agrees. “But you’re paying your half angel, fair is fair.”

“Yes, my dear,” Aziraphale agrees easily, dusting his hands of any traces of crumbs and turning away from the pond.

They meandered away slowly, each of them content in their respective ideas of what the future would look like. Side by side their conversation continued, never faltering while both of them spared small smiles for the other when their eyes met.

Almost absently their hands brushed. And you would never quite know which of them took that final step but hardly a second later their fingers were firmly linked together.

And the nightingale sang on.


End file.
